


won't you come home

by zeltha



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, The continuation scene of Elio in front of the fireplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeltha/pseuds/zeltha
Summary: A silent week passes after Oliver’s departure from the Perlman’s summerhouse, and everything went back to it’s own pattern. Except for Elio's.





	won't you come home

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation scene of Elio in front of the fireplace in the CMBYN movie, and this is him voicing his thoughts. Also a lot of angst. I took the title from Devendra Banhart's song 'Won't You Come Home'. Enjoy! x

A silent week passes after the American’s departure from the Perlman’s summerhouse, and everything went back to it’s own pattern.

Mafalda, not having a guest to service and entertain, continued to serve the Perlman family like usual. She started off with serving eggs in the morning as a habitual routine and presenting Pauillac for dinner for the three members of the family.

Anella Perlman was also quickly falling to the standard praxis of helping her husband with his studies some other time. The family was about to leave the summerhouse for their original home in the outskirts of Rome, leaving the villa unoccupied until next summer.

And Elio’s old man went back to his archaeology research, finishing the little details without his American colleague helping hand.

Elio, however, was filled with brimming woe.

Days and days that passed with Oliver didn’t seem enough for him, and before he knew it, the older man had flown back home. He egoistically craved for more, his desire for the man clawing the unbiased mask he had been sporting the last week.

He had wanted Oliver back greedily for himself, not for helping his Papa with the research, not for anyone. He had wanted Oliver to come back only for him and himself. Back to Oliver’s bed that was formerly Elio’s that they had called theirs and the one they had shared nights with.

The bed they had called each other’s names as an escapade for lust. The very same bed that Elio learned that the man wasn’t only to fulfill his libidinous desires, the bed that made him realize that what Elio had for him was much more than that.

Dare he say it stepped in the line of love.

Foolish, isn’t he? A short summer fling can leave someone as infatuated like this.

His mother obviously sensed his radiating gloom, but was kept mute, as she was unable to have a say in this. She knew what his son and the former guest had in the privacy of the walls they had built up, but kept silent, as she didn’t want to interrupt.

Her role in this was to only comfort her crying son and murmuring soft words to the shell of his ear. It had broken her to the core to see him be in tears. She had left her husband, Samuel, to do the actual talk with Elio, and as she was in the room too though silent, it never failed to shatter her every time she sees the boy crying as his Papa’s soft voice droned on and on.

“Elio.”

“Elio, darling.” His mother’s silky voice reiterated.

The boy still won’t budge at the calls of his mother.

The only thing he could think of was an impromptu call he just received from the man that had clouded his mind barbarously the past week.

He was only focused on the crackling of the fireplace in front of him, as drops of salty tears silently streamed from his eyes. He kneeled as he stared deep towards the hissing inferno, hugging his knees as the call repeated itself in his mind like a broken record.

He had called, casually checking in as if nothing has ever happened. Yes, they had a small and pleasant talk although Elio’s heart was pounding mercilessly; he even severely feared that it would leap out of his ribcage.

The deep voice that Elio had yearned for spoke on the line of the phone call; the rich baritone that once speaks his own name. _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver._

Unfortunately, the voice turned into the same one that had brought news Elio wished he had never heard.

“Elio, I’m getting married this summer.”

At that very same statement, Elio’s mind blanked. The walls of his mouth turned sandpaper and his lips were quivering, trying to formulate a sensible response that won’t seem to make him care about his wedding.

He didn’t care if Oliver was getting married.

He was just a stupid, selfish summer fling that meant nothing more than pleasuring each other’s lust.

Nothing more. He didn’t care.

“Elio?” The voice on the line wavered. 

The Italian swallowed, “That’s great.”

_It’s not._

“Yeah?” A nervous chuckle trembled from the older man.

“Yeah.”

Elio didn’t remember the rest of the things they talked about afterwards, Oliver’s voice that he had longed for greatly became surprisingly irritating for him. All he remembered is the both finally ending the call with a signature sign off from Oliver.

“Later.”

Now his focus went back to the crackling fire in front of him.

How he wished the fire would swallow him whole and fully, as it seemed that it was better than to deal with these feelings.

Elio wasn’t very experienced when it comes to actual romance, what he had with Marzia had been only for genuine fun. He never harboured pure affection to the girl, she was a lovely one but Elio felt nothing else but the teenage thrill of exploring each other’s bodies when it comes to her.

But this thing, whatever this thing is he had with Oliver, it made his heart clench painfully and his body tremble with excitement.

He muffled his quavering mouth onto the sleeve of his patterned button-up, willing himself to let the pathetic tears to stop leaking out of his eyes but to no avail, only to stream even more. He tried to keep silent, really, seeing that his mother and Mafalda were setting up the table behind him.

Is this the dénouement of their little tale? The final scene of what they had during the summer? Because it’s certainly not what Elio had expected.

His derisible mind played tricks on himself, making him think that Oliver would suddenly come back to Crema, and dare he hoped that the older man would come back to his arms.

But that won’t happen. Not anytime soon, not ever, because Oliver obtained himself an upcoming spouse laced around his right arm.

Elio lied.

He very much cared about the wedding; his envious self mutely flared at the news Oliver had informed him by the call. He wanted nothing but to fly to the States, snatch Oliver and fly him back to Crema so he could belong all to himself. Even that sounded childish in his mind.

But he doesn’t have the ability to stop the wedding, he didn’t have the power to refrain Oliver from marrying a woman, he simply didn’t have it.

So he did something that even he himself was surprised of doing.

He let him go.

He accepted himself to let go of Oliver albeit with a heavy heart, Elio knew he had only wanted what’s best for Oliver even though it meant that it’d pain him. It won’t be acceptable for everyone to see two men with their hands laced in public. Nobody could ever understand what they had with an open mind.

He unwillingly forced himself to forget the man whose warmth he had been craving throughout sleepless night the past week, knowing that this is all for the greater good. He didn’t want to seem desperate lusting over a married man later on.

“Elio.” His mother’s voice snapped him from his trance, and without wasting any second he wiped off his tears once again with the heel of his palm.

He stood up; hoping that the memories and the touches he shared with Oliver would slowly evaporate with the crackling fire that is now beneath him.

The boy turned around and plastered a weak smile on his face, wiping his eyes once again and ignored the frown etched on his mother’s face. “Yes, Mama?”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @malvoi! kudos and comment if you liked it! x


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